Chapter Eleven
Royal Residence
Territory of the s’Hisbe
I Am rushed through the halls of the royal residence, his North Face parka clapping against him, the Dunkin’ bag in his hand rustling, the cardboard tray of two coffees on the verge of a tip-over disaster.
Courtiers, servants, and advisors hustled out of his way, their solemn robes like flags falling to half-mast as they dodged and he weaved.
What a mess. As Prince Consort, he was the third most powerful person in the s’Hisbe, so whatever he did was considered noteworthy and important.
Third behind his shellan, the Queen Catra, and his daughter, Dennesha, the Princess and heir to the throne.
Shit, he should slow down. Act normal. He didn’t want prying eyes to get the gossip wheel spinning again.
Like it ever stopped.
When he got to the unremarkable entrance to the Constellation Room, he skidded to a halt at the black glass doors and had to catch his breath for a sec. Goddamn, his heart was thundering and not from the exercise.
Two falling stars. At precisely 9:19 p.m. in the northern sky. One from the east, one from the west, with the intersection directly over the Territory.
Assuming Catra was where she started every night these days, she had to have seen the light show.
He was still panting like a dog when he knocked three times in quick succession and then opened one of the heavy, gleaming doors into darkness.
The enormous glass dome that arched overhead was constructed of thermopanes set in titanium frames that were so thin they all but disappeared.
With no lights on and the floor made of black marble, the top of the snow globe served up a stunning view of the starry heavens.
Not that he saw anything of the galactic display.
His eyes locked on the sole figure inside the most sacred space within the s’Hisbe.
Her Serene Highness Catra vin SuLaneh etl MuLanen deH FonLerahn, Queen of the Shadows, was cross-legged in the middle of the white circle that marked the center of the circular floor and the apex of the dome.
Unlike him, she was dressed in a golden robe that spilled out all around her, falling from her shoulders into a profusion of shimmering folds.
Her black hair was braided tightly around her head, the bottom lengths left free to cascade down to her waist in waves, and her beautiful dark face was clear of any makeup.
No jewels sparkled from her earlobes, her throat, or wrists or fingers, and she was shoeless.
For a moment, his breath caught, even with all the running he’d done. His shellan still managed to stop him in his tracks, her loveliness so much deeper than the surface stuff.
She was his heart and his soul.
“Hey,” he said as he softly closed the door.
The hiccup and sniffle that came back at him got his feet walking, and as he strode across the distance, the fact that he was leaving wet footprints, that he wasn’t in a ceremonial robe, that he was coming up to the Queen herself from behind, were breaches in protocol that would have gotten anyone else in deep shit.
And certainly, if anybody else had been here, he would have changed his approach, at least.
When they were alone, however, she wasn’t the crown she wore. And he wasn’t third in line for anything. They were partners.
“Hi,” she said as she looked up at him helplessly.
“Hey.”
Tears trembled on her lashes, and with shaking hands, she scrubbed them off. “iAm, what are we going to do.”
He knelt next to her, put the coffees down, and opened the orange and white bag. “We’re going to split a cruller. That’s what we’re going to do.”
She burst out a sniffy laugh as he offered her the treat.
“Baked fresh,” he told her. “And I got your coffee just the way you like it. Large with two sugars.”
Catra took the twisted donut and regarded it as one would a flower. “These are gorgeous.”
“Yup, and so is the coffee.” He waited until she savored a bite and then he poked a hole for drinking in her plastic lid. “Here ya go. To wash it down.”
Her eyes teared up again. “Why are you like this?”
iAm fell back on his ass and started in on his own coffee, which was black, no sugar. The first sip went down the back of his throat like a dream, and as the warmth hit his gut, he was reminded that the simple pleasures were better than any luxury.
“Like what?” he prompted.
His beloved took another bite of the cruller and then passed the airy, frosted donut over to him. “This.”
“Well, you mated me for a reason, didn’t you?”
“I mated you for all kinds of reasons.” There was a hiss as she took a sip, and then an mmmmm. “I just don’t know why you put up with… this.”
She plucked the golden robe like it irritated her.
“Oh, my fate hasn’t sucked.” As he listened to his own voice echo around, he reflected on the number of times the pair of them had sat here and talked about things.
“I got to mate the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen—have I mentioned she’s smart and kind?
Sexy as hell, too—not that we have to go too far into that.
I wouldn’t want my base desires to shock your ladyship. ”
She laughed softly. “You make it sound like we were a Hinge date that miraculously went long-term. As opposed to the two of us meeting as part of a palace overthrow and somehow falling in love even though your brother was the one we all thought I was supposed to end up with.”
“Details, details,” he murmured.
Ducking his eyes, he thought of Trez with a shot of raw sorrow.
What a destiny his brother had had, losing his Selena to that dreadful disease.
Love had found the male again a while later, and it wasn’t really a surprise that he’d eventually left Caldwell with his shellan, Therese.
They were out west, living a life free of old ties and old pain with the two young they’d been blessed with.
And they were still in touch, but FaceTime was no substitute for the real thing, and he missed his brother like crazy sometimes.
At least s’Ex, the executioner, had gone with them. So that there was no worrying whether the family was safe.
“Denne’s not ready for any of this,” his Queen said.
What went unspoken was that she herself was also not ready.
And if he was honest, neither was he. Terror had clawed into his chest the instant he’d seen those two shooting stars, that which he’d banked in the back of his mind as a horrific improbability suddenly front and center.
Refocusing, iAm took another draw from his coffee. “I want to argue that point. I really do.”
“Did you go to the restaurant and find her before you came back here?”
“No, I saw the falling stars just as I stepped out of Dunkin’. Soon as I double-checked the time, I came for you.” As his shellan stared off into space, he knew he’d do anything to protect her—and their daughter. “I figured we needed to talk first.”
“We were wrong to keep the prophecy from her.” Catra shook her head. “We should have told her as soon as t’On did that chart.”
iAm pictured the royal Tretary. t’On was a no-drama, steady-freddie who took his job as observer of the stars and recorder of charts very seriously.
When he’d done the celestial reading on the night of Denne’s transition, he’d been so shocked at what he’d seen, he’d refused to speak of it.
Even when threatened with losing his position, he hadn’t been able to.
He’d just left the chart and retreated to his quarters.
The Territory in danger. Catra’s throne failing early. The only hope? t’On and Denne being mated to ensure the line of succession.
And the downfall all started with two falling stars crossing paths on an unknown winter’s night, the only clue given being the time. At 9:19 p.m.
They’d all expected good news when the chart had been done.
Any young making it through their change was an incredible blessing, and in retrospect, he and Catra had been riding the high of their daughter’s survival when they’d asked the Tretary to take a peek at the night sky and see what lay ahead.
In the tradition of Shadows, the ask wasn’t unusual.
For generations upon generations here at the s’Hisbe, the stars had been consulted for all manner of reasons.
Births, illnesses, questions regarding matings, decisions about matters large and small.
The heavens above were seen to influence the actions and destinies of mortals, the whirling positions of stars and moons a compass to reference when direction was needed on one’s path.
iAm had learned two lessons that night a decade ago: Don’t knock on the door of Fate unless you’re prepared for an answer. And your mood does not mean a goddamn thing when it comes to what you get when you ask.
When Catra had decreed that the chart be put away, t’On had been clearly relieved.
Then again, mating the Princess and ensuring the throne’s succession had not been any part of his life’s plan.
He was a celibate and a recluse whose devotion to quiet contemplation and prayer to the night’s sky was the reason he’d been promoted after the death of the previous Tretary.
In the aftermath, things had gone on as if nothing had happened, but the shadow of a future too scary to contemplate lingered.
“She doesn’t have to mate him,” he pointed out. But then what about the rest of the prophecy?
There was a long silence. And then Catra said absently, “The stars have never been wrong.”
“She does need to know.”
As his shellan looked across at him, she demanded, “So you want her to mate t’On, then?”
“I don’t want any of it.” He rubbed his face. “And I don’t know how much I believe.”
More like he didn’t want to believe the chart. The stars had fucked up his and his brother’s lives for a good while, even though everything had proved correct in the end. He just didn’t want his daughter’s existence messed with in the same way. In any way.
His mate reached out of the white circle and took his hand. “I’m sorry, iAm.”